Kinetic the interface nerve spreads restless kinetic words
re-discovered in the anguish of the anatomical skinny

How grotesque these modern months
how dreamily diabolical the monstrous methods and intimate stunts

When might everyday life be pieces of poetry, World Words?
When might it not?
Visual music wants to change the warsong framework of time
With re-pulsing literature flashing superbeams through pre-recorded walls

Hot honeyed in the installation room,Viewer:
you water songs looking at the many people mazed

In the glittering gutter slurping at the waterbank chain
humping at(o)ms trying to find a pulse

In the rape and pill age
rebuilding after hurricane

after hurricane

after hurricane.

Intuitive evidence mounts and what’s in a name or breed of plant?
What’s in the seemingly familiar mundane lurking about?

Long that hard chorus sneaks and stalks outside my windows hardly worried
about eternity earth or the rough lense of time

Mothering me it knows better from giving and oral story morals
Still, determined stones are living

Mags was made and to him a statue they did dedicate
on a marbled checker floor in a building larger on the inside
than on the out, an always changing spaceway whose grand piano
wore beautiful top form teeth.

“I’m down with you in any language,” he liked to say.

Of course this was approved by the authors whose hostile guard and foreign diets alarmed everyone.

Mags knew all about tormented verbs and seismic everything, some Shambala widespread and moreover: petroleum and the African lineage, the anthropologist’s astonishing South that mystified continually Oahu unified in the recognized Earth.

Genetic was his eyezenhower satellite
with Maya in Maya and sweet Iroquois in Iraq.
His voice drilled deeply these names and tales
of other voice box invasions by candlelight in Polynesia
(where he first read of the great American race)

Mags hearted Peru and all his LED encounters over immortal land-bridges
suspended under root and foot, written in the enlightened regions by the full population,
hydrides, high-rises, even long-sewn yarns living in lakes in painful-hard glassy-broken-vessel jars.

sensory achieved overload, lonesome poems, fire ants, state-nations unbound
a lien pipedream got old like the War on Ugly and Poverty and terra talk turkey
and you know: explosions and punch fundamentally infinite

catch the infant – look around – see?
they’re just doing their jobs just gettin rotten gettin green
assigned to the nipple of a motherwar by the antichairman
who is himself a suspected terrorist fleet

his favorite book is hitler copies, or how to do it better with big business
social experiments shitcoms and chatter – written in the pre-rotary telephone era –
that baby began to grow when they put the nozzle of the nose in blank again
because some lawbreakersarelawmakers who on original syntax choke.

a common exhilaration, pessimists!
but we are not trapped under ice or space gloom!

II.

O Meg, aspire
the machine can barely move
unzip it unlock it send more mysteries

with fiery handprint in a collage sniffing glue
with characters with spoons swallowing silver mouths so lo mein mnemonic
and needless to say – send it across the wire / women watching –
if just for a second maybe.it.is.you golden aged n’ wired to be found again
at the beginning of time maybe.it.is
you holding signs in a labyrinth getting higher and higher in the same stain-time

O Meg burn the midnight oil for the cowboys for the body politic, megastar
or anti-thief – heads have had it, hearts and love knots; grief.
the full moon frisky blister bon-bon stetson says

the emperor is nude and fiddling
with human life expectancy, drugstore complexions,
the tale of the phoenician possum and jetson

III.

the holy go spell with those tongue-teeth n’ with those tongue-teeth tongue-tongue she told me
tongue-tongue three realities this week tongue-tongue
say playfully: tongue-teeth tongue-tongue, reiterate and define by me

the mesmerizing sunrise as it commences;
precious we are born and can see
where this canyon was formed, where this fire started;

can smell the salty manic abdomen arabesque, primal and fine / divine n’ full of confusion;
hand in hand of time – it is forever brief –
of time I give but blood at night for these victories…